


Until It So Desires

by monimala



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: Set after season one. In which Frank misses Thanksgiving but makes it to Chanukah, and the Liebermans welcome him home.They share some, long, secret married-people look -- the kind he and Maria used to trade all the time -- and it would knock him off his ass except he's already sitting down.





	Until It So Desires

_"Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires." - The Song of Solomon_

 

Frank skips Thanksgiving. He makes it to Chanukah. Purely by chance. Standing outside the window with his hands fisted in the pockets of his winter coat, hood drawn up, the ultimate stalker as Zach lights the fourth candle. He watches them pray — has no idea what they're saying; he went to some kid's bar mitzvah when he was 12 and all he remembers is the shitty DJ after — and put the menorah in the window. He stumbles back from the glass but not before they see him. Sarah throws the front door open pretty much immediately and practically drags him over the threshold. Leo and Zach swarm him and, fuck, his eyes well up because for a second he can pretend that the sweet little girl smell and sharp tang of little boy shampoo belong to Lisa and Junior.  
  
David brings him back on planet. Back to now. Looking at him over the kids' heads. "Didn't peg you for a Chanukah fan, Frank. Figured Yom Kippur was more your style."  
  
He barks out a laugh _._ Shit. It was one of the dumbass conversations they had while they were drunk. Jewish guilt vs. Catholic guilt. Frank hasn't been to church since burying his family. David was trapped in a power station basement. He'd missed Purim and Passover and Rosh Hashanah. "Day of atonement," he'd slurred, waving his glass, sloshing cheap whiskey everywhere. "You're always atoning, aren't you? Every day." Frank made some crack. Something to change the subject. But he hasn't forgotten.  
  
Just like he hasn't forgotten how David always sees through his crap. And how Sarah sees him despite it. She wrestles off his coat and hustles him to the couch, pours him a glass of wine. Her year-round rosé. Zach is full of questions about where he's been. Leo can't shut up about the shop class she's taking. And he loves it. He fucking loves it.  
  
"You didn't have to stay away, you know." David looks different all cleaned up and rested. Different but the same. Eyes too blue. Hair sticking up every which way. They got so used to each other in that damn basement. Brushing their teeth side by side at the cracked mirror. Moving around that pathetic little kitchen. David even tried to make him ziti once after he mentioned Maria killed at it. It was penne and he couldn't bake it without an oven, but, fuck, that thought had counted a hell of a lot.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I did have to stay away," Frank says, ruffling Leo's hair and pulling Zach close for another half-hug. "I had stuff to work out."  
  
Understatement. They all know that. His "stuff" could fill eight storage lockers and still spill over.  
  
Eventually, Sarah sends the kids up to bed. Complaining the whole way. Zach clutches his unpinned yarmulke in one hand and stomps up the stairs like the bratty little shit Frank tried to rehab. "Work in progress," Sarah admits, sheepishly. She's gotten herself some wine. Topped off him and David, too. Maybe they're all a little drunk. He has a damn good recollection of how the Liebermans get when they're toasted. Sarah with her "fuck me" eyes. David shaking his ass. _"I'm hung like a moose."_ Frank's never seen a moose dick, but he believes it. He's no slouch himself, but what he remembers of David's beats his by a couple of inches. Flaccid.  
  
Goddamn. The rosé is some strong shit. Making him consider things he hasn't done since Kandahar. _Billy's pretty, lying, mouth wrapped around him. Sucking him down. "A hole's a hole, Frankie. Can't get picky out here in the desert.*_  
  
This isn't the desert. This is a living room with matching furniture and knickknacks and toys scattered around. And David and his wife have never lied to him. Not in any way that mattered. So when the couch cushion dips with David's weight, Frank's slow on the uptake. When Sarah kneels in front of him and puts her palms on his thighs, he's two steps behind. They share some, long, secret married-people look — the kind he and Maria used to trade all the time — and it would knock him off his ass except he's already sitting down.  
  
"We missed you," they each tell him. David in his ear, Sarah with her lips ghosting over the suddenly too-tight crotch of his jeans. Like they've talked about it. Planned it. Gotten off to the idea of him between them. This whole time, he's been alone, jerking off to memories of a woman who's gone forever, denying himself a woman who lives just a borough away, but they've kept a spot for him. "Why?"  
  
They answer him by pulling him up off the sofa. Leading him upstairs. He could stop them. Easy. They're so soft. So breakable. But Sarah stops on the sixth step to kiss the corner of his lips. David leans into his back, rubbing that monster moose dick against his ass. And Frank forgets about why he wants them to stop. About the shoulds and the hows and the fact that he doesn't deserve to be this cared for.  
  
Jesus, he could tear them in half. But they're not scared of him. Not disgusted by the scars they uncover when they strip off his clothes inside their bedroom. They shuck their clothes, too. David takes off his yarmulke and sets it on top of the dresser. Frank wonders if it's sacrilegious or something to have a threesome on a Jewish holiday, but before he can ask, Sarah puts a hand on the center of his chest and shoves him backward. She's like a drill sergeant. A fucking alpha. Telling him to get on the bed. Telling David to make him come. Touching herself as her husband puts his face in Frank's lap, as he twists his fingers in David's curls and bucks up against his tongue and teeth.

Billy was wrong, he thinks, half out of his mind with crazy lust and crazier need. A hole's not just a hole. Who's taking you down to the hilt, who's got your balls in their hand, who's whispering "It's okay, we're here, we're not letting you go," against your jaw...it _matters_.  
  
Sarah Lieberman is a beautiful woman. All reds and golds and husky laughs. He's never thought of her as _his_ woman. But she makes it abundantly fucking clear that he's her man. Hers and David's. Theirs to stroke, theirs to suck and lick. Theirs to claim. There may be candles lit downstairs, but this is the fire hazard right here.  
  
Maybe this is punishment for rejecting her after she kissed him that one time. Maybe this is payback for playing Odd Couple in the basement while she was topside thinking her husband was dead. Maybe it's some kinky wine-fueled insanity that they'll never talk about again. Or maybe it's just the purest thing between the three of them.  
  
Maybe it's trust.

 

 

\--end--

 

 


End file.
